


Jack

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A memory. A keepsake. A name. A gift for the Boys from Mrs. Hudson. A story for junejuly15's Birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junejuly15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junejuly15/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the amazing junejuly15. She has lovely stories that you must read and if you peruse Tumblr the images and postings on her blog are delicious. Happy birthday, my friend!
> 
> I asked her for three words for her birthday. She gave me sugar pot, flabbergasted and flamboyant. I hope you enjoy what I have crafted for you. I also hope you do not mind I borrowed Sherlock’s nickname for John from your story Four Seasons, I just changed the circumstances a little. I love that part in the story.
> 
> Thanks to mattsloved1 for looking it over!
> 
> Do not own. Wish I did. So unfair.

John stood on a small stepladder and took down the item Mrs. Hudson had requested from the top shelf. Normally Sherlock would be the person responsible for retrieving items out of reach, but as he was out at the moment, their landlady had asked John to do the fetching.

 Even with the help of the stepladder he had to go up on his toes. The hidden treasure was located at the very back of the shelf, tucked into the corner. He reached around and was finally able to pull it to the front. It was a small bowl, a **sugar pot.** It was white porcelain, with gilt edges. The top of the pot had a leaf shaped design and it rather had the look of a piece of china your Gran might have, only brought out for special occasions, for important company or festive family gatherings. There was a fine accumulation of dust on the surface from being regulated to a quiet, dark corner.

 He looked at it quizzically and then handed it down to Mrs. Hudson. She beamed up at him and walked it over to the sink where she gave it a thorough cleaning. John put the stepladder away and by the time he turned around from his task, Mrs. Hudson was drying the bowl and lid. She handed them to John. He looked down at the pieces in his hands and back up at Mrs. Hudson.

 “I want you to have that,” Mrs. Hudson said. John looked at the dear lady’s face and was **flabbergasted** to see she had tears in her eyes.

 He instinctively reached out an arm, placed it around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. He thought carefully for a moment, because he didn’t want to hurt the landlady’s feelings. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson. But can I ask why? I mean it’s, um, lovely and everything, but…” he trailed off vaguely unsure where to go with compliments about something so overly fussy. He really couldn’t see it at home in the flat of two men.

 “But why would two men want something that fairly shouts ‘old lady’?” She smiled a watery smile at him, although there was a definite twinkle in her eye.

 John blushed and stammered a faint apology. Mrs. Hudson patted his good shoulder.

 “Oh John! You are a kind and thoughtful boy, but you are very transparent when it comes to not wanting to hurt my feelings. I rather think this is an ugly piece as well.” Her chuckle was almost as soggy as her eyes were.

 “I want you to have this because of sentiment. Yes, sentiment, that dreaded word we dare not speak in front of Sherlock.” Her smile was firmer and much more like the mischievous one she used when dealing with a certain tall, handsome and occasionally childish detective.

 “I want you to have this because there’s a story to go with it. You see, long before I met Mr. Hudson,” she grimaced slightly at the mention of her unlamented and deceased husband, “back in the days of my youth, I was engaged to marry a lovely boy.” Her eyes grew misty again. “He was tall and handsome, not unlike Sherlock, but very different. He was considerate and funny, but quiet, not nearly as **flamboyant** and colourful.” Her grin returned, as did the sparkle. “I loved him very much. His mother insisted we start collecting a good set of china. She believed a marriage was not whole without the completion of a formal set, one to be brought out for holidays and company. She was very strong willed and we really did not have much say in what we were getting. She picked out this pattern. It is actually quite old and collectable and we had only managed to receive a few pieces when my Jack was killed in an accident.” John’s eyebrows rose at the sound of Mrs. Hudson’s first love’s name, but he didn’t say anything.

 “Anyway, what with moving from place to place and a volatile husband and one thing and another this is the only piece left. I want you and Sherlock to have this, a sort of congratulations present. Seeing the two of you together, the way you carry on and look at each other when you think no one’s watching, well it reminds me of Jack and me. Besides I know that’s what Sherlock likes to call you, so it seemed fitting.”

 John could feel the warmth of a good, solid blush infuse his face. They had not really made it known yet that he and Sherlock were sleeping together, but he knew Mrs. Hudson had been hoping for this moment since he’d moved in with the detective. There was also the fact that Jack was Sherlock’s rather intimate nickname for him. He had a momentary flashback to the other night and the reasons why Mrs. Hudson would know this bit of information.

 Mrs. Hudson’s face sparkled with more good humour as she took in his look of surprise.

 “Oh John, you should see your face! I am well aware what Sherlock likes to call you. His bedroom is right above mine and you two aren’t as quiet as you’d like to think.”

 He really didn’t think he could blush any harder, but apparently he could.

 John swiftly kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek.

 “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. It’s a fantastic gift. I’ll…ummm…just go…and ummm…fill it up.” He gave her another quick hug and hurried from 221A, clutching the now precious sugar pot in his hands and hoping he wasn’t about to expire from embarrassment. He jogged up the stairs and entered the kitchen. He took down the chipped and plain bowl they had been using and transferred the contents to the one from Mrs. Hudson. He placed it carefully in the cupboard.

 oOo

 The sound of the front door and a hurried set of footsteps flying up the stairs intruded into John’s nap. The irascible calling of his name wasn’t really needed to complete the impression that Sherlock was home.

 John’s private whirlwind swept into the flat and pounced upon the good doctor. He placed a hurried but heartfelt kiss upon John’s lips and chivvied him to his feet. Without stopping for a breath he regaled him with the details of a case he’d been working on.

 John nodded and threw in the occasional ‘Amazing’ and ‘Brilliant’ at appropriate moments whilst he tried to unmuddle his sleepy thoughts. He went to the kitchen to make tea; Sherlock followed behind to make sure John heard every gripping detail. John reached up into the cupboard for the tea things, including the ‘new to them’ sugar pot.

 He didn’t notice the silence for a moment until he turned to see Sherlock had actually stopped midsentence and stared at the bowl in John’s hand.

 “John, what is that?” there was a note of derision in the detective’s voice. John looked down at the bowl and the conversation with Mrs. Hudson came back. He chuckled mildly and felt the return of the blush that had seemed to linger for hours whenever he remembered Mrs. Hudson’s comments.

 Silver and green eyes flickered at breakneck speed as the probably cause of John’s still glowing colour was deduced.

 “Something about this bowl is causing embarrassment. It wasn’t here before I left. It is not likely to be a family heirloom. You have lived here a sufficient amount of time and you are comfortable enough to scatter personal items around the flat, even more so since the change in our relationship. Judging by the state of your clothes and the fact you have a smudge of shoe polish on your thumb indicates you have newly cleaned and polished your shoes. You do not like to go out after polishing them, so you have not been to the shops today. There is one other person in this building who is most likely to own such an item, therefore it is a present from Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson gave it to you for a reason.”

 The detective thought for a moment.

 “Mrs. Hudson is aware of the change in our relationship. She gave us this sugar pot as a gift, to say congratulations. But why are you embarrassed?” Said matter of factly, but John could still read the underlying tension in the set of Sherlock’s shoulders. Mrs. Hudson was the one person, besides John himself, whose opinion mattered to him. He would never say, but he would wish for her to approve of his relationship with John.

 John carefully set the bowl down and crossed over to Sherlock. He reached up and ran a tentative hand along the taller man’s jawline and down his neck. Sherlock swallowed, but it was the only indication to show John’s touch was affecting him more than he would admit.

 “No worries love. She approves.” John smiled, warm and welcome as the sun on a cold day. Sherlock lifted his arms and placed them around John’s shoulders and pulled his doctor in for a kiss, but he pulled back abruptly, not liking to leave a puzzle unsolved.

 “So why the embarrassment? Granted it’s hideous. Looks like something my matron Aunt would own. Or possibly Mycroft.”

 John chuckled and then explained the story of the sugar pot and Mrs. Hudson and Jack.

 Sherlock listened attentively, but unlike John, he found no embarrassment in the shouting out of a name.

 He began to grin wickedly and then drew the doctor back in and kissed him much more thoroughly. Hands slowly slid up the back of John’s neck and buried into the fine silky hair. Sherlock nibbled his way to John’s ear where he murmured in the tones, which made John’s toes curl.

 “Come on, Jack,” he whispered, deep, dark and seductive. “Why don’t we go to the bedroom and you can welcome me home properly.” Sherlock’s grin grew as he noticed John’s colour. He wondered how many times he could slip in the name Jack through out the night and how long before John stopped blushing at the mention.

 It could prove to be an interesting and entertaining evening.

 


End file.
